Quiet drive

It was getting late in the day, and a comfortable after-dinner drowsiness was coming over me; the perfect time to sit down to the piano, or to curl up with a book, or to walk through the cool night air. But duty and a deadline called me, and I grudgingly got into the car.

As I pulled out of my neighborhood, I left the radio alone, a rarity. Most days I never drive anywhere without music. But tonight, I felt the car’s quiet enclosing me like a cocoon, offering its peace and protection.

I drove onto the highway, acutely aware of my silent space, a stolen stillness in a world of clamor. The sun was descending directly before me, turning the asphalt into a glowing sheet of gold. The reflection was like light on the water, and with the rumbling of traveling tires like ocean waves I could almost imagine myself flying over a heavenly sea.

There was peace in that time of quiet, room for thoughts to wander, unrecorded. Without the distraction of noise, and with the suspension of my mobility, I experienced a new perspective. My mind looked in upon itself and my eyes looked out, and I could see things to which I had been blind.